He did not admit to himself that he had been rather bored of late and that the very triviality of the business attracted him.
"The parsley sinking into the butter on a hot day," he murmured to himself.
"Parsley? Butter?" Miss Lemon looked startled.
"A quotation from one of your classics," he said. "You are acquainted, no doubt, with the Adventures, to say nothing of the Exploits, of Sherlock Holmes."
"You mean these Baker Street societies and all that," said Miss Lemon. "Grown men being so silly! But there, that's men all over. Like the model railways they go on playing with. I can't say I've ever had time to read any of the stories. When I do get time for reading, which isn't often, I prefer an improving book." Hercule Poirot bowed his head gracefully.
"How would it be, Miss Lemon, if you were to invite your sister here for some suitable refreshment-afternoon tea, perhaps? I might be able to be of some slight assistance to her."
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Poirot. Really very kind indeed. My sister is always free in the afternoons."
"Then shall we say tomorrow, if you can arrange it?" And in due course, the faithful George was instructed to provide a meal of square crumpets richly buttered, symmetrical sandwiches, and other suitable components of a lavish English afternoon tea.
Miss Lemon's sister whose name was Mrs. Hubbard had a definite resemblance to her sister.
She was a good deal yellower of skin, she was plumper, her hair was more frivolously done, and she was less brisk in manner, but the eyes that looked out of a round and amiable countenance were the same shrewd eyes that gleamed through Miss Lemon's.
"This is very kind of you, I'm sure, Mr. Poirot," she said. "Very kind. And such a delicious tea, too. I'm sure I've eaten far more than I should-well perhaps just one more sandwich-tea? Well, just half a cup."
"First," said Poirot, "we make the repast-and afterwards we get down to business." He smiled at her amiably and twirled his moustaches, and Mrs. Hubbard said, "You know, you're exactly like I pictured you from Felicity's description." After a moment's startled realization that Felicity was the severe Miss Lemon's Christian name, Poirot replied that he should have expected no less, given Miss Lemon's efficiency.
"Of course," said Mrs. Hubbard absently taking a second sandwich, "Felicity has never cared for people. I do. That's why I'm so worried."
"Can you explain to me exactly what does worry you?"
